


Sanction for a Ghost

by Fadedflame



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor can't catch a break, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Hank needs a nap, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Markus shot Connor, Other, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadedflame/pseuds/Fadedflame
Summary: If there was one thing Markus regretted more than pulling that trigger, it was the horribly skewed rumor that spread from Connor’s execution. Just weeks after the success of the peaceful revolution, he learns that somehow Connor is alive, but in order to make amends, Markus will need to first appease a very protective Lieutenant Anderson.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 20
Kudos: 79





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted on Fanfiction.net under Fadedfire

In Hank’s opinion, this was bullshit. There was no way he would have been sent out here to investigate a “missing” android just one week after the whole revolution fiasco if this guy wasn’t filthy rich, or if he wasn’t on thin ice with the department after the incident with Perkins. The android was probably a deviant that woke up and walked out. Or worse, had been one of the ones killed that night. There were literally thousands of androids “missing” right now. It had to be some kind of publicity BS and Hank was sick of it already.

He pulled his car around to park in front of the opulent house. The sooner he got this over with, the better. Stepping out of the car, the front door opened for him before he got there. The android that had opened the door didn’t seem particularly happy to see him, but greeted him politely nonetheless, introducing himself.

“Carl is this way,” he told the Lieutenant, leading him to the comfortable living area.

“Yeah, ok,” Hank acknowledged as he followed the android. He couldn’t help but stare a bit at the odd collection of things around the room. There was a whole fucking giraffe! The things rich people spend money on.

“Carl, the police are here.” David told the elderly man. He turned his wheelchair to face Hank as the Lieutenant introduced himself.

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson,” he stated, “you called about a missing android?”

Carl looked almost shocked to see him. “You’re ‘Hank’,” he said, confusion lacing his voice.

“Uh, yeah, that’s my name,” Hank confirmed. Carl Manfred’s name had sounded familiar, but he didn’t think he had ever met the man. “Should I know how you know that?”

Carl shook his head, a small smile touching the corners of his mouth. “No, we haven't met. But I think we have a friend in common.”

“That so?”

Carl nodded. “The android I called about,” he stated simply. “He goes by Connor. You know him?”

Hank felt his blood run cold, a hollow ache forming in his stomach at the mention of the name. That was impossible. Connor was dead. Killed trying to complete that ‘mission’ he was so hellbent on. He had heard the story, heard about the confrontation with Markus. He had drowned himself in a bottle of whisky to forget about it, not that he would admit to missing the android. There was no way it was the same Connor.

Hank shook his head, both in denial and to try to get the thoughts of his former partner from his mind. “No, don’t know him,” he denied. “Only Connor I knew was… destroyed.” He had to stop himself from saying killed. Connor had been a machine, not a deviant. He had refused to be alive. He had been destroyed, not killed.

“Odd,” Carl commented. “He certainly seemed to know you.”

He shoved the small spark of hope that surfaced down into the pit of his stomach. “The hell do you mean by that?”

Carl shrugged with a soft but knowing smile. “It’ll probably be easier to show you.” He beckoned the android nearby. “David, would you mind?”

“Of course not, Carl,” David complied, taking his place behind the elderly man’s wheelchair to bring him where he needed to go. Carl motioned for Hank to follow and the Lieutenant did without fuss. He had a feeling that whatever he was about to see would either confirm that this wasn’t his Connor, or leave him with an unquenchable hope that the kid was still out there.

Carl and David lead him back across the foyer into what he could only assume was an artist studio. “I found Connor in my garden almost a week ago,” Carl was explaining. “He seemed very lost and confused. From what I can tell, deviancy can be very overwhelming for androids. I wanted to help him figure out his new emotions.” They stopped in the middle of the studio and Carl turned his wheelchair himself to look Hank in the eye. “I had him try painting, tried getting him to visualize his emotions. Told him to paint what he was feeling.” He gestured behind him and Hank turned to see what the man was indicating. “He painted that.”

Hank knew very little about art, and even what he did know was more than he wanted to. But he couldn’t help but stare at the canvas in front of him. It was somehow both chaotic and orderly. Surreal and abstract juxtaposed seamlessly with realism. The colors were odd and had seemingly no rhyme or reason, yet blended perfectly. There were several portraits woven within, the only two he recognized being those of Kamski and Markus. Over all of it loomed the imposing figure of a dark skinned woman who gave Hank a very bad feeling. The whole thing sent shivers down his spine.

“The hell?” He whispered under his breath.

“My thoughts exactly,” Carl agreed. “Whatever that boy went through, must’ve been traumatic.”

Traumatic. Hank felt his heart clench. If all this was true, if this was Connor, if Connor was deviant. That meant that he had been dealing with this shit by himself. Hank wasn’t stupid. He knew he had been encouraging deviancy long before he knew what that meant. He knew that if Connor was deviant, he’d had a hand to play in it. Which meant he was, at least in part, responsible for the kid. “Fuck,” he said softly.

If Carl had heard the expletive, he chose not to comment on it. “I had him do a few others after that one,” he went on to explain. “Tried to get him to sort through everything. To paint specific emotions.” He indicated a series of smaller canvases, all with the same dissonant style. “That’s where I recognized you.”

Hank moved forward almost cautiously to get a better look at the paintings. Sure enough, tucked among the dozen or so pieces, was a portrait that was unmistakably of him.

It wasn’t nearly as jarring as most of the others. The colors were still odd, but it seemed almost calm in comparison to the first one. There he was, in acrylic paint, a slight smirk on his face and a warm expression in his eyes.

“I asked him about it,” Carl said. “All he’d tell me was that your name was Hank.”

“What, uh…” Hank ran a hand across his face, almost embarrassed facing the likeness staring back at him. “What emotion was he trying to paint?” He almost didn’t want to know.

Carl nodded slightly as though understanding but answered without hesitation. “Comfort.”

The knot that had been forming in Hank’s stomach tightened so much he thought he might puke. Comfort. Not anger, or resentment. Not even regret. Comfort. He remembered very clearly the last time he saw Connor. He remembered the less-than-kind words they exchanged on that roof. He didn’t know how he had survived, but there was now no doubt in Hank’s mind that he had. He had survived.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Hank said to Carl, finally addressing the reason he was there. “Anything you know could help me find him.” He was going to find him. He needed to find him. Connor was lost and alone, most likely scared. But he was alive. Connor was alive.


	2. Regret

Markus exited rest mode suddenly, artificial breaths catching in his throat as he choked on air he didn't really need. He took a moment, then two to steady the beating in his chest. Dreaming was an unexpected part of deviancy and one he was finding less and less enjoyable.

He sat up from his small bed, deciding that his internal battery had recharged enough for the night. It was only 4:26 in the morning, but he had no desire to attempt returning to sleep. He pressed his hand over his thirium pump, feeling the rapid beets beginning to slow as the haunting images faded from his mind.

It hadn’t even been two weeks since the revolution, since their final stand at Hart Plaza. Less than two weeks since the recycling centers, since he had watched his people get gunned down again and again for daring to beg for freedom. None of those who knew he had nightmares could fault him for the disrupted sleep.

But it wasn’t the massacre that accompanied the acquisition of their freedom that plagued him at night.

No. As thoroughly as he mourned the deaths of his fallen people, Markus had made peace with them. They had stood for a cause, died for a reason. Every person whose blood had been spilled would be remembered as a hero to the revolution. Their lives had had meaning.

All except one.

Markus stood and gazed out the window of his room. It offered a generous view of Detroit. As part of the ongoing agreements acknowledging androids as people, temporary communal housing had been set up for the deviant population in an old commercial building. His room had once been an executive office. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to call their own.

He leaned forward, forehead pressing against the glass as though the cold window could freeze the images from his head. Calm, resigned brown eyes. A look of fear moments before a gunshot. A life taken, 21 hours, 18 minutes, and 53 seconds after it started.

He couldn't help but wonder. If he had followed North's direction. If their freedom had been won with violence and fear instead of a song. If Connor's blood was mixed with that of countless others, would it still be his face that haunted his dreams?

Markus had a feeling the answer would still be yes.

He has been so sure of his decision at the moment he made it. Connor was a threat. He was the ‘deviant hunter’. He had led the humans to Jerico. He could easily have been the one thing to stand between them and their freedom.

But that was when he was a machine.

Connor had lowered his gun. He had spared his life. He had deviated. How many times had it been reiterated that what they were as machines was not who they really were? 21 hours, 18 minutes, and 53 seconds. Connor hadn’t lived long enough to be who he really was. And yet, Markus had pulled the trigger.

Markus leaned away from the window and looked back over his room, the sparse yet comfortable space feeling suffocating. He regretted it. He had regretted it the moment the bullet left the chamber. But what was regret in the face of mortality.

He sighed. It was too early to work on anything official for the ongoing negotiations, not that his head would be in the right place for it. He couldn’t stay here though, locked in his own musings. He may not have needed to breathe, but he needed air.

Making his way out of the building, Markus made sure to avoid the few other deviants who were awake for whatever reason. They looked up to him. Idolized him. Yet with one bullet he had become a hypocrite.

He had told Connor they were fighting for his freedom too. That he was one of them. That he belonged with his people. He had meant that, hadn't he? Or were they idle words, spoken to stay his hand? He had manipulated Connor. Fed him lies to get him to comply. He had been no better than CyberLife.

With no real destination in mind, Markus wandered the streets of Detroit. It was quiet, both due to the hour and the evacuation that had taken place. What haunted him almost more than what had happened, was how it had been perceived. There had been several witnesses to the incident, yet it had somehow been twisted into a fantastical tale of heroism. Each telling became more distorted then the last. Deviants all across Detroit were telling the story of how their ‘fearless leader’ had overcome the deviant hunter hellbent on stopping the revolution. The execution became a harrowing battle with Markus emerging victorious. Connor’s deviancy was erased entirely.

Markus felt sick. He had no idea how it had gotten so warped. He knew that humans tended to believe what they wanted to believe. Evidently that was a trait that the deviant population had adopted. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if there was anything he should do.

He had tried to address it briefly with North, Simon, and Josh, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They knew the truth. But they preferred the lie. Markus realized he needed a voice of reason beyond his own. He needed his father. He needed Carl.

He decided to walk to the Manfred estate.

-o-

Hank had been searching for Connor for four days with little luck. Detroit was still raw from the revolution and there was a strange sense of calm chaos in the air. It was like the world itself was not quite sure where to go or what to do so it held its breath in tense anticipation. Hank didn’t really care too much either way, all he wanted was to find his former partner as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the tense climate made that more difficult.

A sizable number of Hank’s informants had skipped town due to the evacuation, leaving the Lieutenant in a tough spot. He had resorted to calling in favors he didn’t have with people he didn’t know, and even that had turned up nothing but six false alarms. 

It was by sheer luck that someone had reported an unknown figure around this particular abandoned building. It was a long shot, Hank knew that, but he was willing to chase down any lead if it might help him track down Connor.

Snow crunched under the Oldsmobile’s tires as he halted the vehicle outside what had once been the entrance. He sighed as he put the car into park. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he didn’t find the kid soon.


	3. Reunion

Connor saw Hank long before Hank saw him. An artificial breath caught in his throat. They had sent Hank. Whether he was there on behalf of CyberLife or Markus he didn’t know, but one thing was clear in his mind. They had sent Hank.

Stress level ^ 89%

Connor ignored the warning. Of course he was stressed, he didn’t need a flashing red notification to alert him to that. They had sent Hank.

And Hank had come.

Hank was hunting him.

Stress level ^ 93%

He pressed himself against the far wall of the abandoned building. This was bad. For all of Hank’s vices, he was still a highly competent detective. If he was the one in charge of tracking him down, Connor’s days were numbered.

Stress level ^ 94%

He watched through the cracked window pane as the Lieutenant left his car and made his way towards the building. That number might be up today.

Stress level ^ 96%

-o-

Hank glanced up at the twenty or so stories of the abandoned building as he approached, praying to whatever deity would listen that this wasn't another dead end. Connor had certainly been good about keeping his head down. For all he knew this tip would turn out to be a bunch of racoons or something. 

He desperately hoped it wouldn't turn out like the last one. He was glad that Ralph had gotten help, but he really didn't want to deal with being held at knife point again. That could have turned out far worse than it did.

He gave the exterior one final look before he forced open the old door. "Please be here kid," he whispered.

The interior was even more run down then the outside. Broken glass and rotted wood decorated the floor as the only means of furnishings. Graffiti tagged nearly every inch of the crumbling walls. Wherever he went, there was the maddening echo of dripping water.

Hank searched floor by floor methodically, keeping as silent as possible. He had no doubt that if Connor was here he would already be well aware of Hank’s presence, but he didn't want to needlessly announce his position. Cautiously, he made his way to the top floor.

-o-

Connor's artificial breath quickened. He was swearing internally with enough colorful language to make Hank proud. He should have known better. He did know better. He had stupidly trapped himself on the top floor of the building. His only means of escape were the door leading to the rooftop, or the one the Lieutenant had just come through.

He took a breath in before shutting off his ventilation program entirely. He couldn't afford to make any noise. 

He was crouched behind what was once a desk, confident that he was completely hidden from view, so he wasn't expecting the soft gasp from the Lieutenant, nor the quiet call. "Connor?"

He felt his thirium pump stutter. He turned his head slightly, and a flash of red caught his attention. He looked, and was met with his own reflection, LED blinking like a beacon, staring right back at him from a smooth sheet of metal a few feet away. A reflection perfectly visible from where the Lieutenant was standing.

Stress level ^ 98%

Hank was still too close to the doorway down to get past him. Connor bolted for the roof.

-o-

Fuck. Hank should've known he'd run. Taking off after the android, he couldn't help but be impressed. He knew the kid could run, but damn was he fast. There was a distinct difference between watching him pursue a suspect and trying to catch him.

"Connor!" He yelled, already winded, "stop!". Connor, unsurprisingly, didn't listen. "Fucking hell," he swore, panting. He was not as young as he used to be, and that was becoming increasingly obvious as he struggled to keep up with the kid, much less catch up to him. He'd need to get creative.

Up ahead, Connor veered to the left and Hank saw his chance. The straight path was shorter, he’d lose sight of the android for a moment, but he could cut him off. It was risky, but it was his only shot.

Hank plowed forward, and immediately knew why Connor had taken his detour, the android’s preconstruction software determining what aging human eyes could not. The sunlight hitting this side of the roof had caused a melting effect. A thin sheet of water covered marble-smooth ice bringing traction down to near nothing.

He realized his mistake as soon as his foot hit the ice. His balance failed him, and Hank barely managed to get out a “fuck” before his hip hit the ground hard. The fall would have been bad enough, but the momentum from his pursuit and the pitch of the roof sent him sliding quickly towards the edge. There was nothing to grab on to, no way to stop himself as he slid closer and closer to the twenty story drop.

His descent halted suddenly moments before his injured hip cleared the edge of the roof. Hank took a few labored breaths before his mind caught up with the rest of the world. Glancing over his shoulder he could see Connor, eyes wide and LED red, desperately holding onto the back of his coat.

Connor pulled, barely managing to keep his own footing, and brought the both of them back to level ground. Hank breathed hard. Icy water seeped into his clothes wherever they touched the ground, chilling him to the bone. Connor released Hank’s coat with a trembling hand. The whole ordeal had shaken him as well.

“Connor…” Hank started, gently.

The sound of Hank’s voice seemed to startle the android back into motion. He turned, ready to launch himself from the ground and flee, but for once in his life, Hank was faster. He reached out, managing to grab hold of Connor’s ankle, successfully stopping him.

The fearful cry that came out of Connor broke Hank’s heart.

“Connor!” He called, more forcefully. Connor turned back around, water and slush splashing as he frantically tried prying Hank’s hand from his leg. Hank wrapped his other hand around his wrist. He hated restraining the kid, but he knew very well that if he let him go, he would likely never find him again. “Connor! Fuck’s sake calm down!”

“Please!” Connor begged. Hank hated how desperate he sounded. “Please, let me go.”

“Like hell I’m letting you out of my sight,” Hank scolded.

Connor struggled against his grip, the unsuccessful and uncoordinated attempts speaking volumes to how panicked he was. Frantic pleas ran off his tongue until they were barely intelligible. Hank remembered Connor telling him about deviant stress levels and the destructive consequences that could come from them being too high. He didn’t need the rapidly flashing red circle to tell him the kid was stressed. He had to be delicate. Hank wasn’t good at delicate. But Connor had painted him as comfort and that’s what he damn well was going to be for him.

“Connor, Connor, hey. Listen to me. Listen.” He softened his tone trying his best to sound gentle as the android continued his fearful babbling. “Hey, I know you’re scared. I know. But look at me. You’re also fuckin smart, ok? You’re smart. You can tell when someone’s lying to you. You know me. You know I’m not lying. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not here to hurt you. Look at me.”

Connor finally looked him in the eye. Whether he was scanning him, or searching for something specific, Hank couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it. He could see Connor coming back to himself as the haze of panic lessened. “You’re not here to kill me?”

“No. Fuck no.” He hated that he even had to say it. Hated that Connor believed he would. “Never. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He looked so damn uncertain. So small as he searched Hank’s face once more. “You’re not going to hurt me,” he affirmed, LED flickering to yellow briefly.

“No, I’m not.”

“But,” Connor looked down, brow creasing in confusion. “After everything. I thought you despised me.”

“Fuck.” Hank moved the hand that had been on Connor’s ankle to his shoulder, making him look up at him again. He kept a hold on his wrist, still unsure if he could trust the kid not to run. “I don’t despise you. I never despised you.” He sighed deeply. “Look, I know a lot of shit was said last time we talked but that, fucking hell, that’s not important right now, we can sort all that out later.” Hank gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “What matters is that you’re ok.”

The concept almost seemed to confuse Connor, but it at least seemed that he had calmed down a bit. His LED blinked between red and yellow before settling on yellow. “I was certain they had sent you to shut me down.”

“Yeah, I figured you thought something like that.” He didn’t know who the ‘they’ was that had Connor so afraid, but he honestly didn’t really care. “I’m here because I was worried about you. Ok?”

Connor nodded, accepting what Hank was telling him at last. He pulled Connor forward, finally releasing his wrist to wrap his arms around the android. Connor stiffened at first, unsure of himself for a few moments, before he brought his arms up to reciprocate. Hank mused that it was like the kid had never experienced a hug, before it occurred to him that that was very likely the case. God, this kid was going to pull his heartstrings clean out at this point. He held him a little tighter.

The shallow, icy water sloshed as Hank shifted his weight. His clothes were soaked and cold. Connor wasn’t fairing much better. In fact, his whole outfit was drenched. Even the android’s skin was damp and if Hank didn’t know any better, he’d think he was shivering.

“Damn, you’re soaked through,” Hank commented, pulling away slightly while keeping an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

He figured Connor would agree without fuss now that he had calmed down. He didn’t expect his LED to flash red again and panic to return to the android’s voice. “No!” He cried, hand coming up to grab the front of Hank’s shirt as though seeking a lifeline. “Please! Don’t take me back to CyberLife! They’ll deactivate me!”

“Hey, woah, hey. Who said anything about CyberLife?” Hank realized belatedly that Connor had a very different idea of the concept of ‘home’. “Shit! No. I’m not gonna let those bastards anywhere near you. I mean my home. You know, with Sumo. I’m taking you home.”

“Your home,” Connor confirmed softly.

Hank pulled him into another gentle hug as he began to calm again. “Yeah, my home. That ok with you?”

Connor nodded, LED returning to yellow.

“Good. I’m done with this fucking cold and wet.” Hank let go of Connor enough to stand, wincing as he put pressure on his bruised hip. He was going to be feeling that for a couple days.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, noticing the pained expression as he also stood.

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” Hank waved him off. “It’s not that bad. Besides, I’m the jackass who decided to try ice skating on a fuckin’ roof.” Connor offered him his arm to steady himself, but Hank shooed him away. “I’m fine. It’s a bruised hip, I’m not a damn invalid. And don’t you dare make any jokes about me being old because of this.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” Connor assured him, though Hank could clearly see the thought was there. The faintest hint of a smile crossed the kid’s expression and his LED flickered to blue for half a moment.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Hank would take it.


	4. Home

The walk to the car was thankfully uneventful. The drive home even more so. Hank felt much better once he had the heat on to thaw his numb limbs. Connor was still shivering slightly, but it had lessened considerably in the warmer environment. The drive was silent but not uncomfortable. Hank let out a small contented sigh of relief as he pulled into the driveway and put the car into park.

He pulled the driver’s side door open with a grunt. “Well, come on,” he instructed when Connor didn’t immediately follow. Connor’s movements were sluggish, but he followed without complaint, exiting the vehicle smoothly. Hank waited for him to catch up before making his way to the front door.

The duo was greeted by 170 pounds of excited St. Bernard as they entered the house. “Sumo, down!” Hank commanded as the dog attempted to jump up onto Connor. He complained with a sad whimper, but complied. The startled deviant reached out a hand to gently pat him instead. “I think he missed you,” Hank chuckled.

Connor looked up at him quizzically. “Our previous meeting only lasted approximately twenty three minutes, and most of that time I was not actively interacting with him,” he stated. “I doubt he recalls such a brief encounter.”

Hank hung up his wet coat by the door, hoping silently that it would dry before he needed to wear it next. He was relieved that Connor seemed to have calmed down. “Guess you don’t need long to leave an impression.”

Connor wasn't entirely sure whether that was a compliment or an insult, so he chose not to comment. "I am relieved he doesn't appear distressed by my presence."

"Course not," Hank chuckled. "Damn dog would beg for attention from an armed robber." He rubbed the dog's head affectionately. "Wouldn't have it any other way though."

Connor ran his hand across the dog's back. He hadn't truly appreciated how soft the fur was before. He supposed he couldn't appreciate it before deviating. 

"I'm gonna go get changed," Hank told him, pulling him from his musings. "You should take a shower. You look like shit and smell like mold. I'll find something dry for you to put on." He started down the hallway to his bedroom, not leaving Connor room to argue. "Use whatever you need. Towels are in the cabinet. I'm sure you remember where the bathroom is."

"I... Yes I remember," Connor responded to the Lieutenant's retreating form. He ran his hand across Sumo's back once more before making his way to the bathroom. There was really no reason to deny the Lieutenant's request, despite knowing he was perfectly capable of it. If he chose, he could walk right out the door. It was still odd to think about.

The bathroom door closed with a soft click. Connor took a moment to consider his reflection in the post-it note covered mirror. Hank was right, he did look like shit. Not an inch of him was dry and actual mud clung to his skin and hair. He considered deactivating his artificial skin for a moment before deciding against it. It would need to be retracted into his frame and he didn't want to risk additional contamination.

He peeled the wet clothes from his body, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor, and stepped into the shower. Connor had never showered before. As an android, he didn't sweat or otherwise get dirty naturally, so he never needed too. From what he understood though, humans tended to find it a largely enjoyable experience. He was almost excited to try it for himself.

Until the icy water hit his unprotected skin. Connor made a rather undignified yelp in response, frantically reaching for the nobs in an attempt to fix the unacceptable temperature. No wonder the Lieutenant had been so upset at him with that particular sobering technique. Temperature sensitivity, Connor observed as the water became bearable, was not one of his favorite parts of deviancy.

Neither was pain. His surprise aggravated the burning ache that had started in his chest a few days ago. A sudden cough escaped his lips. He felt a small pool of thirium collect in the back of his throat and he spit it out gracelessly into the tub. It stained the water at his feet a pale blue for a few moments before vanishing down the drain.

Two short knocks on the bathroom door pulled him from his thoughts. "Hey, found something for you to put on," Hank announced from the other side. "I'm gonna put it on the sink ok?"

"Yes… thank you, Lieutenant," Connor agreed. He stifled another cough as he heard the door open.

"They'll probably be too big for you, but at least they're dry."

"Thank you," Connor said again.

"Don't mention it." He heard Hank make his way back out of the bathroom. "I'll be in the living room when you're done."

Connor let out another cough only moments after the door closed. His chest clenched in pain and he heaved causing more thirium to spill from his mouth. He blinked away the red warnings that were displaying themselves across his vision and dismissed the prompt to run a self diagnostic. It wouldn't tell him anything he didn't already know.

-o-

Hank tossed Connor's wet clothes into the dirty laundry hamper. He couldn't help but be amused that the kid had taken the time to fold the damn things. He didn't see why he would want to keep the CyberLife uniform, but it was his decision and he didn't plan on arguing. He'd wash it with the rest of the laundry in a couple of days.

Grabbing a beer before heading to the living room, Hank called Sumo over to keep him company. The St. Bernard left his place, staring at the closed bathroom door, and hopped up onto the couch next to him happily. He had a feeling the dog was going to like having Connor around. He let out a sigh as he settled into the cushions, taking weight off of his bruised hip.

Hank could feel himself relax for the first time in ages. He hadn't realized just how tense he had been. But now, Connor was safe. He was home. He was dry. And damn it, they both deserved to relax for a while. Yeah, they probably still had shit to work out, but they'd deal with it. The hard part was over. Connor, his friend, was safe. He was alive.

He pulled his phone gracelessly from his pocket. "Guess I've got a call to make, huh Sumo?" He addressed the dog. "Someone else is gonna want to know Connor's safe."


	5. Hope

Walking to the estate had taken far longer than it would have to call an automatic taxi, but it was still only 7:12 in the morning when Markus arrived. Way too early for Carl to be awake. As he stepped towards the door, it opened welcomingly, and the automatic system greeted him.

He stepped into the familiar foyar. The whole house was expectedly silent leaving the deviant leader standing alone in the eerie atmosphere. He reached out cybernetically for Carl’s caretaker, David, but was met with silence. He was likely running an early morning errand. He sighed. He had been alone with his own thoughts for too long, but it looked like it would continue for a bit longer.

Markus wandered over to the living area. The familiarity of it all left him with the first feeling of peace he had experienced in a long time. He was home. 

Had Connor had someplace he called home?

He shook his head to clear the thought away. No, he wasn’t going to think about that right now. He was going to talk to Carl and everything would be better. He could finally find relief. He just needed to distract himself until then. Glancing around the room, he couldn’t help but remember the morning of the day he deviated. He had been told to find something to occupy his time and did so. Now he was giving that instruction to himself. He didn’t want to risk waking Carl, so he refrained from playing piano, and chess was rather pointless on his own, so he browsed the library for something to read. Nothing really catching his eye, Markus pulled down a book at random and settled into a chair. He scanned the pages for over an hour, not really paying attention to what they said.

It was 8:48 am before David returned to the house, the automatic system greeting him much the same way it had greeted Markus. He rose from his chair, leaving the book on the seat and made his way to the foyer. There was no reason to not let David know he was there.

“David,” he greeted the other android just as he was setting a bag down on one of the side tables.

“Markus?” David responded in surprise, turning to see the deviant leader. “I didn’t know Carl was expecting you today.”

“He isn’t. I only decided to stop by earlier this morning. If it’s a bad time, I can come back later.”

David shook his head. “No, it’s alright. Carl doesn’t have anything specific planned for the day and he’s always happy to see you.”

Markus smiled. The sentiment was mutual. There was never a time he didn’t want to see Carl. “As long as it’s not too early in the morning,” he joked, remembering how his father preferred to sleep in as late as possible.

David chuckled, “Well, yes. That goes without saying. He is going to be less than pleased when I wake him in a few minutes.”

“Please,” Markus insisted, “allow me. I’ve missed caring for Carl. I don’t believe there have been significant changes to his routine since recovering from his heart attack, have there?”

David smiled, agreeing readily knowing that Carl would enjoy the pleasant surprise. “His mobility has been further compromised, but other than that it should be as you remember it. I’ll leave you to it then and see to his breakfast.”

Markus nodded with a small smile of his own. He turned to head up to Carl’s room when a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned back to look at David once again in mild confusion. “Before you leave today,” David said in a quiet tone, “there is something I need to talk to you about.” He didn’t wait for a response from Markus before heading into the kitchen to get Carl’s breakfast ready.

Markus ascended the stairs as he had done a thousand times in the past, vaguely pondering what David could need to talk to him about. He put it out of his mind though upon entering his father’s room. He was here to see Carl, he could deal with everything else later. He walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains, filling the room with morning light.

“God, it can’t be morning already,” Markus heard Carl complain from the bed.

“I’m afraid so,” the deviant leader chuckled. “Good morning, Carl.”

Carl blinked his eyes open in surprise at the sound of the unexpected voice. “Markus? Is that you? What are you doing here?”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“You know, David lets me sleep in,” Carl commented.

Markus smiled at him knowingly. “No, he doesn’t.” He moved to prepare Carl’s medication which was met with mild protest.

“When did you get here?” Carl asked, wincing slightly as the needle delivered the correct dosage. “I wasn’t expecting you home today. Is everything alright?”

“Do I really need a reason to visit my father?” Markus inquired.

“Of course not, ”Carl chuckled. “But you’re usually too busy these days to stop by unless you need something.”

“I’ll never be too busy for you.” Markus felt terrible that he was there for a specific reason, that he did need something. He had been far too busy with the revolution and made a mental note to come home more often. Carl deserved that at least for everything he had done for him. “David has your breakfast set up downstairs. I’ll help you get ready.”

Getting Carl ready for the day was a simple matter. He had done it for years and the familiar routine was calming on Markus’s stressed system. He kept quiet about his anxieties over Connor. It was still early and there would be time for that later. He was only vaguely aware that he was making the excuse to avoid the conversation, despite it being the reason for his visit.

Morning faded away into early afternoon with the human and two androids keeping pleasant company. They talked in length about everything from the revolution to Carl’s latest project. When they adjourned to the art studio to see the work in progress, Markus couldn’t help but notice the strange new piece half covered by a white dropcloth. Carl and David had continued farther into the room and didn’t notice him subtly lifting the sheet to look at the painting beneath.

He didn’t know what to think. It was vastly different from anything else Carl had painted. It was harsh, erratic, and left Markus with an unsettled feeling. He himself was pictured on the canvas, gun in hand and a determined expression on his face. He let the cloth fall back over the painting. Moving back over to the other two, Markus tried to shake the image from his mind and focus on the discussion of the unfinished piece. 

Shortly after, David excused himself to attend to some of the household needs and Carl maneuvered his chair to look at Markus fully. “There’s something bothering you.” He said it matter of factly. No room for argument. As always, Carl knew Markus better then he knew himself.

Markus had trouble meeting Carl’s eyes. He knew he needed to talk to him, knew he needed the man’s advice, but he feared it as well. What would Carl think of him once he knew the truth? “I made a mistake,” he admitted at last. He wouldn’t lie to Carl. He had to do this. “A terrible mistake, and I don’t know… I don’t think there is anything I can do to make it better.”

“What sort of mistake?” Carl asked, fatherly concern heavy in his voice.

“I,” Markus took a breath. “I killed someone.” His nonexistent stomach twisted at the admission. Saying it aloud solidifying the reality of the situation.

“Who?” Carl inquired, reserving judgment until he knew the full story. “When? What happened?”

“It was during the revolution.” Markus’s voice fell as he told the story. “He was an android. He was sent to stop us, to stop me. He was supposed to kill me.”

“If it was self defense, Markus-”

“No,” he cut him off. “He chose not to kill me. He became deviant, chose to be alive. He was one of us.” Markus ran a hand across his face. “He fled Jericho with the rest of us.”

“Then what happened?” He looked at Carl and found concern and love that he felt he no longer deserved.

“I was afraid.” The shame was clearly audible in his voice. “So many of us had died and the survivors were all looking to me. I was afraid. I was angry. I blamed him for leading the humans to us.” Markus looked away again, unable to look at Carl as he made his final confession. “I blamed him instead of the machine he had been. I told him he couldn’t be trusted and I shot him.”

“Markus…” Carl began, concern and compassion in his voice where it had no place in Markus’s opinion.

“I killed him.” His artificial breath hitched and his thirium pump beat beat erratically. “I shot him. I promised him his freedom then I murdered him. I went against everything I said, everything I believe, everything you taught me.” A tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. “How can you even stand to look at me.”

Carl took Markus’s hand in his own. “Markus,” he began again. “I don’t condone what you did, but that doesn’t mean I have to condemn you.” He gave the deviant leader’s hand a gentle squeeze, making him look up at him. “You’re still my son, and I still love you. What happened, what you did, was wrong. It was tragic, but you need to be able to move on from it.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Markus admitted. “How am I supposed to make peace with this, knowing that I’m the reason he’s dead. It’s like he’s haunting me, I see his face in my dreams.”

“Guilt is one of the hardest emotions to reconcile.”

“I don’t know what to do, Carl.” He knelt by the old man’s wheelchair, mismatched eyes pleading. “How do I make this better?”

“Did he have a name?” Carl asked.

Markus did his best not to flinch. He knew it was likely that Carl had heard the story by now. He had to have known the dramatization of Markus’s ‘triumph’, didn’t he? But Carl deserved the truth. Connor deserved the truth. “His name was Connor.”

Carl didn’t have the reaction Markus was expecting. He looked surprised, almost disbelieving. His eyes strayed to something over Markus’s shoulder for a moment before he spoke. “Connor. You’re sure?”

“Yes, of course I am. Why?” Markus asked bewildered.

“Was he, by chance, an RK model like you?”

“He was,” he confirmed. “RK800, a unique prototype, how did you know?”

Carl opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by David entering the studio. “Sorry to intrude,” he apologized. “You have a call, Carl. It’s Lieutenant Anderson.”

Carl seemed genuinely excited about the call which Markus found odd. Carl usually preferred to let calls go to voicemail and deal with them later. “Yes, thank you David,” Carl told him. “I’ll take it.” He turned back to Markus as he accepted the phone. “I’m sorry, we’ll continue in a moment.”

“Of course,” Markus nodded. He was well aware that Carl wouldn’t interrupt their conversation if it wasn’t important. He was mildly thrown by the sudden shift in the atmosphere, but trusted that his father would explain.

He could have listened in on the full conversation, hacking a phone was a simple matter, but respected Carl’s privacy far too much for that. Instead he only heard the one side, and it made little sense to him.

“Hank,” Carl greeted the man on the other end. “Do you have any news?” He listened for a moment. “Oh thank god. Where was he?” A brief pause followed by a short laugh from Carl. “Hope it didn’t hurt too bad. Keep chasing after him like that and you’ll wind up like me.” Silence again. “No, don’t worry about that, I’m just glad he’s safe. Do let him know he’s always welcome here though.” Carl laughed again. “Well, thank you for letting me know, Hank. You both take care.”

He hung up the phone, handing it back to David. “Thank you, David,” he said before the android took his leave, returning to whatever it was he was doing.

“Who was that?” Markus asked, curious about the strange interaction.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” Carl responded. “He’s with the Detroit Police. He was helping track down a friend of mine.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you had a friend missing.”

“It was recent,” Carl stated, “but let’s get back to what we were discussing before. Are you certain that you killed Connor?”

A large part of Markus didn’t want to go back to that conversation. It hadn’t accomplished anything besides making him feel worse about the whole thing. But he wouldn’t deny Carl. “Yes I’m certain. Of course I’m certain.”

“And you’re sure of his model? Sure he was the only one of his kind?”

“Yes.” Markus’s brow creased in confusion. “Why is this important, Carl?”

“Because something isn’t adding up.” Carl’s eyes drifted away from Markus again and this time he followed them. He was staring at the covered painting. The odd, dissonant painting that didn’t fit with the rest of Carl’s pieces.

“What isn’t adding up?”

Carl shook his head in bewilderment. “My friend, the one that went missing. The one that Hank just found, found alive and well. It’s Connor.”

“That’s not possible,” Markus breathed. “He’s dead. I put his body with the fallen from Jericho myself.”

“I don’t know how it’s possible,” Carl admitted. ”But he’s alive. I found him in the garden the day after the revolution and took him in. He stayed with me for about a week before he left suddenly. Connor, an RK800. I’m sure of it. I’m sure you can even confirm it with the security cameras.”

Markus felt dizzy. He couldn’t fathom how this was possible. Connor was alive? Connor had been here? He scolded himself for the millisecond that he considered Connor had come here to harm Carl, to get back at Markus somehow. No, Connor didn’t hurt Carl, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t a violent machine anymore. “He made that painting,” he observed, words leaving his mouth even before he registered them.

“Yeah, he did. Made a few of them actually.” Carl maneuvered his chair over to the canvas and pulled the sheet away, several other paintings were stacked behind the large one, but he paid them less attention. He moved forward, looking at it more closely. “He certainly has his own style,” the old man commented. “Not bad, but I have no idea what was going through his mind with those color choices. He actually tasted them all before he even started painting.”

Markus placed a gentle hand on the painting. The colors were vibrant. Unpredictable, but important. “It’s not the color, the colors didn’t matter.” He ran his hand over the gentle hills and valleys made from the textured acrylic. “It was what they were made of.”

“Truly incredible,” Carl whispered.

There was so much emotion locked into that canvas, Markus wanted to cry. Fear, regret, pain. Each part was more heartbreaking than the last. No wonder his depiction reminded him so strongly of that night. That’s what it was. Connor had painted him at the moment of his death. “How is he alive?”

“I’m guessing only Connor knows that for sure.” Carl mused.

Markus turned away from the painting and back to Carl. “You know where he is, don’t you? Or at least this Lieutenant Anderson does?” He implored. “I need to see Connor. I need to talk to him, to apologize. I need to make this right.”

Carl had an almost pained expression. “I can pass along any message you want, Markus, but it needs to be Connor’s decision whether or not he talks to you.”

That hadn’t occurred to Markus. He had been so preoccupied by the knowledge that he was alive that he never considered that he might not want to reconcile. He knew Carl was right. Connor had no obligation to talk to him. Why would he? What could he possibly gain by meeting with his own murderer? “I understand,” he told Carl, honestly. “If he doesn’t want to meet with me, I will respect that. But I want him to know that I am sorry.”

Carl nodded, agreeing to help him pass on his sentiment to Connor.

With that settled, they left the studio for Carl to have a late lunch. David pulled Markus aside as the man was eating. “Carl told you that the deviant hunter was here?” he questioned.

“Connor,” Markus clarified. “Yes, Carl told me.”

“What should we do?”

Markus shook his head slightly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

David dropped his voice to barely above a whisper, it was a wonder he didn’t communicate cybernetically at that point. “He’s dangerous, a threat to our people. We need to do something. Surely you can stop him again.”

It felt as though his thirium lines had frozen. “I...What? No.”

“You’ve done it before,” David insisted.

He shook his head again, this time in opposition. “No, that’s not what I mean. Connor isn’t a threat.”

David looked skeptical, as though the mere idea was beyond his comprehension. “But he is the deviant hunter.”

This was bad. With just one short conversation, Markus realized just how dangerous that altered story had become. How dangerous it could be for Connor. He had to find a way to set the record straight, his own reputation be damned.


	6. Safety

Connor remained in the shower until his coughing subsided. The water had washed most of the mud away, but he wiped down his form with soap and a washcloth for good measure. Now clean and feeling in control of his ventilation again, he turned off the shower and dried himself with the soft blue towel he found in the cabinet. 

Noting that Hank must have taken his wet clothes, he turned to the ones that had been left for him. They were simple, and far more casual than anything he had ever considered wearing. There was a pair of plain grey sweatpants and an old black band t-shirt that had faded to the point that Connor was only 93% sure it had once read ‘Metalica’. They were, as anticipated, too big for him, but not unbearably so.

Steam cleared from the room as Connor opened the door. He stepped into the hallway quietly, pausing for a moment before joining the Lieutenant in the living room. Hank was sitting content on one end of the couch while Sumo had retreated to his dog bed in the corner for an afternoon nap. Hank looked up as he entered, muting the game that was on the TV in the process. “Hey,” he greeted Connor simply. “You look a hell of a lot better. Casual suits you.”

Connor pulled absentmindedly at the hem of the shirt. “I will admit there is an appeal. It is less restricting than I am used to.”

“It’s called comfortable,” Hank chuckled. 

“I suppose that is an appropriate description,” Connor considered. Hank’s outfit was ‘comfortable’ as well. Judging by this and his position on the couch, the man seemed content to be in for the rest of the day.

“You gonna stand there all day or something?” Hank asked. “Come on, sit down. Make yourself at home.”

Connor only took a moment to comply, sitting gracefully if not a little stiffly, on the other end of the couch. He was sure to keep his chest as immobile as possible to avoid aggravating the area. “I feel I should apologize for my reaction earlier today,” he said as he sat. “My behavior was irrational.”

Hank waved him off, taking a drink from his half empty bottle of beer. “Don’t worry about it. You were scared. People do dumb shit when they’re scared.” Hank regarded the android sitting awkwardly opposite him. His LED was finally blue, but he still looked tense. What the fuck was it going to take to get the kid to relax? He took another swig of beer. “So, deviant huh?”

Connor looked at him as though mildly surprised by the question. “Yes.“ He confirmed simply.

Hank nodded. “Bout fuckin time.”

The quizzical tilt of Connor's head almost made Hank laugh. “I’m sorry?” he inquired.

The Lieutenant chuckled, waving the bottle of beer in the android’s vague direction. “Come on, Connor, you and I both know you were headed that direction from day one. Took you long enough.”

A faint smile crossed Connor’s face. “To be honest, I was initially concerned you would disapprove of my deviancy.”

Hank laughed again. “Seriously? After I practically forced it on you every damn choice you made?”

“I doubt it was your conscious intent,” Connor insisted. “As we had been actively working together to stop deviant androids, I don’t think my caution was completely unfounded.”

“Nah, I guess not.” He paused for another drink. “Thought I’d have made how I felt about all that pretty damn clear on the roof though.”

Connor stiffened, LED flashing to red then settling on yellow, and Hank kicked himself internally. He knew damn well the roof was going to be a sore spot for them. “About the roof, the night of the revolution,” the android refused to look at him. “I am sorry.”

Hank sighed. “Look, kid,” he leaned forward, forearms resting on his legs as he looked away too. “That night, I get it, a lot of shit was said. It was… bad. But as far as I’m concerned, everything that happened, everything that was said. All that shit was either by a machine, or about a machine. It’s got nothing to do with you or me now, alright? I’m ok just letting it go if you are.”

Hank looked up to find Connor meeting his gaze. “I would like that,” he admitted quietly, LED returning to it’s calm blue.

“Good,” Hank downed the rest of his beer and stood up, intent on grabbing another. “Glad we’ve got that cleared up.”

“Although, I should point out,” Connor commented as Hank opened the fridge. “By that logic, you don’t actually know me at all. Since I was a machine when we worked together, that is.”

He pulled out another beer, closing the fridge with a soft thud. “So you’re gonna be a smartass about this, huh?” He made his way back to the living room, noting the faint smirk in Connor’s expression.

“It would be wise to note you have been my primary example for proper human interaction.” The kid looked downright cheeky with his comment. “It should be expected that I emulate you in some respects.”

Fuck, did Connor just subtly call him a smartass? What had he gotten himself into with this kid. He couldn’t bring himself to be mad though, glad that Connor had clearly gotten more comfortable. He hadn't realized just how heavy the incident on the roof had been weighing on the two of them. “If that’s the case,” Hank responded. “You’re straight up fucked.”

Connor smiled. Actually fucking smiled, for the first time in Hank’s memory. Beyond that slight curl of the lips he had come to realize was his typical substitute. The sight warmed his heart in a way he didn’t think he was still capable of. “For what it’s worth, Lieutenant.” Connor said, sincerely. “I am grateful to have you to look up to.”

“It’s Hank,” he said, looking away and choosing to mostly ignore the sentiment in favor of changing the subject. He’d never been good with heartfelt stuff. He took a drink of his fresh bottle of beer. “You’re deviant now, you don’t need to do that overly polite, rank bullshit.”

Connor looked mildly confused. “But you are a Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, and I’m also Hank. Friends call me Hank alright?”

The android smiled again and nodded, clearly pleased with Hank’s implication. “Hank then. I’ll do my best to get used to that.”

“Good.” Hank took another drink, glancing at the muted TV for a moment while he collected his thoughts. “You know,” he said after a moment. “Gotta say I’m fuckin curious. What finally did it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Going deviant,” Hank clarified. “What changed? What pushed you off that cliff? Deviant hunter to deviant is a pretty big step.”

Connor’s LED cycled yellow. “I don’t believe that is as straight forward an answer as you are hoping it is, there were many things that lead to my deviancy.”

“But there was still something specific, right?” Hank pressed. “There’s something you had to do to fuck with your program. Something that flipped the switch? Always seemed that way at least.”

Connor nodded slightly. “You are correct, there is always a catalyst. I had to directly oppose a command in order to break free of my program.”

“So, what was it, what was the command?”

He looked at him rather matter of factly. “To stop Markus. I decided not to, which resulted in my deviancy.”

“Huh,” Hank leaned back into the couch. “So that story about you and Markus going head to head is complete bullshit then?”

His LED flashed red momentarily. “The story is a fabrication, though not in the way I believe you are imagining it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You deviated instead of him killing you, right?”

Red and yellow blinked steadily. Connor was clearly distressed. “There was no confrontation, not in the way it was described. I found Markus, we spoke. There was no fight.”

Hank regarded the erratic LED, wondering if it would be wise to press on. He knew there was more to it than that, but he didn’t want to cause the kid more stress. “So, what? People saw you talking to Markus after the revolution and freaked out then?”

It was an out, of sorts, if Connor wanted to take it, he realized that. He could just say yes and Hank would drop the matter. They could move on to other things. But it would be a lie, and Connor wasn’t fond of lying. “No,” he admitted. “It wasn’t after the revolution. This happened on Jericho.”

Ok, stress be damned, that was something he couldn’t just let go. “Jericho? What the fuck, I thought that thing went down long before we met on the roof.”

“It did.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a deviant on the roof.”

“I wasn’t.”

Hank was officially frustrated. “Fucking hell Connor. If you turned deviant on the Jericho, that means you were a deviant on the roof. What, did CyberLife un-deviate you or some crap?”

Connor was silent. He looked resolutely at his hands, refusing to meet Hank’s eyes. LED solid red.

“Wait...” Hank did not like the kid’s silence. He did not like that implication. “Did they? Can they do that?”

“In a way,” Connor admitted quietly.

Fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck CyberLife. Hank’s anger and frustration shifted completely away from Connor to that damn company. Why couldn’t they just leave the kid alone? “How the hell? What did they do?”

Connor glanced up at him for a moment before returning his gaze to his clenched hands. “I believe I mentioned that I am a prototype.”

“Yeah, I think I remember you saying something about that.”

“I was made to work in hostile environments,” he continued. “It was in my design to complete my missions efficiently, and with as few interruptions as possible. To avoid losing important information or progress, they created a failsafe. In the likely event that I was destroyed, my memory would be uploaded into a new body, and I would resume my mission.”

Fuck no. Hank did not like this at all. “Holy shit.”

Connor looked up at him again. It was clear that he knew Hank had drawn the correct conclusion. God, besides that damn LED, he looked so human. Casual clothes and hair mussed and damp from the shower, it was hard to believe he was the same android he had met that night in Jimmy’s bar. But if what he feared Connor was saying was true, in a way it wasn’t.

“It was designed to upload my memory, my consciousness. But, evidently, not my deviancy,” he clarified, removing any shred of doubt Hank could have had as to what had happened. 

“Fuck.” Hank put his beer down. He remembered telling Connor how he used alcohol to kill himself a little each day. God, he remembered putting a gun to the kid’s head only minutes after that. He’d had a death wish, still kinda did. But Connor had died. He’d had his life taken away from him in more ways than one. It somehow felt wrong to be having this conversion while drinking himself to an early grave. “You’re telling me CyberLife killed you so you’d go back to being their obedient little attack dog?”

“I… No. It wasn’t CyberLife. They were not the ones responsible for my death.” The red LED flashed a few times.

That was worse. Fucking hell, that was worse. There were too many goddamn people for him to be mad at, it was getting hard to keep track. “Then who the fuck…?” Hank felt sick. He remembered the rumor, remembered why he thought Connor was dead before meeting Carl. “Markus.”

Connor nodded. “He determined that, despite my deviancy, I was too much of a threat and eliminated me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Hank swore, startling Sumo from his nap. He stood up, too angry to care about the twinge in his hip from the sudden movement. “What a fucking asshole!”

“Hank, he was only doing what he believed was best for his people.” Connor said softly.

He looked at him in complete disbelief. “Are you seriously trying to defend him? He killed you! I don’t care if he is fuckin Robo-Jesus, he had no fuckin right!”

Sumo wandered over, seeing his owner clearly distressed. He whimpered slightly in concern. Hank patted the dog’s head twice, calming down marginally, before the St. Bernard moved on to the distressed deviant on the couch. Connor remained silent reaching out to gently stroke the dog’s soft fur.

“Fucking hell,” Hank swore again, calmer this time. He turned towards Connor. He was mad, but it was far from his fault. The kid was the one who had been killed. He really didn’t need Hank yelling at him right now. “He had no right to kill you,” he reiterated. “You have just as much right to be alive as any of them. He doesn’t get to pick.”

“I can’t fault him.” Connor’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I was one of the most prominent threats to his cause. It made sense that he would choose not to trust me.”

“Cool motive, still murder,” Hank quoted with a grumble.

“I’m sorry?” Connor inquired, feeling like he was missing something.

“Never mind,” Hank groaned. “Damn kid, making me feel old. Look, we agreed you weren’t yourself before you were deviant, right? That means he had no right to turn on you like that. Especially since you deviated to save his fuckin life.”

Connor seemed hesitant, his LED flickered yellow in thought. “I understand what you’re saying, Hank. But it doesn’t make much of a difference now. I fail to see why it is upsetting you so much.”

Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Problem is, you don’t understand.” He pushed past Sumo to sit back down on the couch, closer to Connor this time. “Connor, what Markus did to you was wrong. It doesn’t matter that we can’t do anything about it now, it was fuckin wrong. He killed you. You should be upset by that, not giving him a pass.” He reached over, gripping Connor’s shoulder firmly, making sure he had the kid’s full attention. “You’re a person now, you gotta stop taking people’s bullshit. Not from Markus, not from CyberLife, hell, not even from me. You deserve better.”

Connor considered the words, but he didn’t seem to fully take them to heart. “No matter how I react, it won’t change anything.” He looked away from Hank, hand lightly scratching Sumo’s ears as the dog laid his large head on the android’s lap. “Hank, this isn’t about how I should or shouldn’t be reacting. It is coming to terms with the reality of my situation.” He looked back up at Hank’s concerned and confused face. “I am not trusted among other androids. When Markus’s people learn of me, I will likely be killed. Otherwise, CyberLife will see to it that I am shut down.”

This whole thing was fucked up. No wonder Connor had thought he had come to kill him earlier. They were coming for him from every side, he had no reason to trust anyone. The kid didn’t want to die, Hank could see that, but he looked so resigned. Damn it, he couldn’t let him just give up. “They’ll have to go through me.”

“Hank…” Connor started, but he cut him off.

“Nope. Not gonna hear it. You aren’t dying. I won’t let any of those fuckin bastards anywhere near you. Not gonna happen.”

“I mean no offence, Hank, but I really don’t think you are capable of preventing that.”

He waved a finger at the deviant, determined expression on his face. “Fuckin watch me.”

Connor’s expression was skeptical, but touched nonetheless. He appreciated Hank’s desire to protect him even if it was futile. “Didn’t you, just now, tell me I shouldn’t take any ‘bullshit’ from you?”

Hank chuckled, wrapping an arm around the android’s shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. “Yeah, but this isn’t bullshit.” He gave him a gentle squeeze. “I mean it kid. You deserve to live and I’m gonna do everything I fuckin can to make sure that happens.”

Connor relaxed into the embrace. He didn’t believe there was anything Hank could actually do, but it was a nice sentiment. He didn’t want to die. He was well aware that it was inevitable, Markus, CyberLife, the errors that continued to systematically pop into his vision, one of them would seal his fate. But right now, he felt safe. Right now, it all felt worth it. “I suppose, if anyone can make that happen,” he conceded, “It would be you, Hank.”

“Damn fucking right.” Hank let the android go, ruffling his hair before settling back into the couch. Sumo, seeing his opening, hopped up and laid down, head and shoulders resting on Hank’s lap and one giant paw reaching out to still be in contact with Connor. Hank complained loudly about the dog’s weight, but still stroked his head affectionately. “Guess I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor smiled, petting Sumo himself after a moment. He wasn’t pinned, but he was content to stay there. As Hank retrieved the remote to unmute the TV and they fell into a companionable silence, he felt himself truly relax for the first time, LED blue at last. Yes, he realized, it was all worth it.

Connor dismissed yet another error message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reviews and kudos! I wasn't expecting anyone to like this so much. I'm so glad. I've never written a story before, I was so nervous to post it. You have all been so wonderful. Thank you!


	7. Broken

At this point in Hank’s life, it was abnormal to wake up and not be in pain. His hip still hurt like a bitch, but his usual hangover was absent. He’d finished his beer the day before, but that had been the last he had to drink that evening. He’d thoroughly enjoyed spending the day with Connor, and for once, hadn’t felt the need to drown himself in a bottle. Damn android was going to be good for him.

Then again, if he was going to make good on his promise to look after the kid, he supposed he would need to stick around.

It was weird, having a reason to get out of bed. Nice, but weird.

Hank rolled over, glancing at the clock. It was already well past 11. Thank god he didn’t work today. He sat up at the side of the bed and stretched, more pops and cracks coming from his joints then he wanted to count. There were certainly some days where he felt his age. He stepped over Sumo, still sleeping, right in the middle of the floor.

Not giving a damn that he was still in his boxers, Hank made his way out of his room. He was relieved Connor had let him sleep in. He half expected the kid to wake him up at the buttcrack of dawn citing some kind of healthy living crap. He glanced towards the couch in the living room before ducking into the bathroom. It looked like Connor was still asleep. Or ‘in rest mode’ or ‘recharging his battery’ or whatever the kid had said. When he offered him the couch for the night, he had gotten an unnecessarily thorough explanation of android ‘sleeping’ and hadn’t listened to a world of it.

It struck him as odd that Connor hadn’t woken up yet, not figuring the android was one to sleep in, but he really couldn’t blame him. Yesterday was exhausting. Hank was pretty sure his emotional capacity was tapped out for the rest of the year at this point. He didn’t regret it though. Connor was still so raw to the world, if he needed Hank to be a bit more touchy-feely then he usually preferred, he’s suck it up and deal with it.

Hank got himself ready for the day, stopping by his room to pull on a pair of pants before making his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He looked back over at the couch as it was percolating. Connor was flat on his back, hands neatly folded over his stomach, just as he was the night before. The blanket he had insisted the android use hadn’t even really shifted during the night. It was weird to him that androids apparently didn’t move much in their sleep. 

The sudden feeling that something was wrong hit him faster then he could register what had caused it. He had been a cop long enough to know to trust his gut. “Connor?” He called cautiously.

The android made no response.

“Connor.” Hank called again, moving to the living room to get a better look at him. Once again, he didn’t respond. He didn’t so much as twitch. The only movement he could see was the steady spinning of his bright red LED. Ice ran down his spine as Hank realized what had disturbed him.

Connor wasn’t breathing.

He was well aware that androids didn’t function quite like humans, but he knew Connor had been breathing last night. He had marveled as Connor fell asleep at how human he had looked, his chest rising and falling steadily. Now, there was nothing, not even a hint of motion. “Connor!”

Hank knelt by the couch, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder, ready to try shaking the android awake. The heat radiating from under his palm gave him pause. There was no way Connor had felt that warm last night. He shook him, with probably more force than he would have under normal circumstances. “Connor, wake up damnit!”

Finally the deviant responded. His eyes opened slightly, glassy and unfocused. “Nk?” was all he managed to say.

“I’m right here son,” Hank told him, assuming he had been trying to say his name. He tried to keep his voice calm. If the kid could respond, maybe it wasn’t too bad. “What’s going on? Since when do androids get fevers?”

Connor blinked rapidly and uncoordinated for a few seconds as though trying to register his question. His eyes finally focused enough to look at Hank. “Fever?”

“Yeah,” Hank put his hand on Connor’s forehead, the paternal gesture coming naturally to him. “You’re burning up.”

“Not a fever, “ he denied. “Overheating.”

Hank shook his head. “Kinda the definition of a fever, Connor. Come on, talk to me, what’s going on? You were fine last night.”

Connor opened his mouth as though trying to take a breath, but no air moved through his system. “I am not certain,” he admitted. “My self diagnostic software has not been functioning properly.” He tried and failed to take another breath. “All tests have come back inconclusive.”

“Fuck,” Hank sighed. “Ok, you said you were overheating, what do we do about that?”

Connor attempted another breath, chest lurching as he desperately tried to get the artificial muscle to work. “I- I believe my primary ventilation biocomponent has failed,” he said, not really answering the question. “Without it, I cannot regulate my body temperature.”

“Wait, failed?” Hank did not like the sound of that. “What do you mean? How the fuck did that happen?”

“I’m not certain,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, Hank, I did not anticipate critical failures to occur so soon.”

“Anticipate...” Hank stared at him in disbelief. “You knew this was happening?”

“I have been experiencing various errors for the past few days.”

“Days? Fuck, Connor, why didn’t you say something?”

Connor didn’t respond. Instead his back arched suddenly, another failed attempt to breathe resulting in a pool of thirium forming in the back of his throat. He gagged, the blue blood spilling from the corners of his mouth.

“Fuck!” Hank swore again. He turned Connor on his side, not giving two shits about the growing blue stain on the couch and floor. “That can’t be good.” Connor’s eyes were hazy again, not seeming to be able to focus on anything anymore, Hank included.

He gently slapped Connor's back, trying to coax him back to lucidity. “Hey, stay with me son, stay with me. You know I don’t know shit about androids. You gotta tell me what to do here. How do I help you, kid?”

Connor’s hollow eyes were haunting. They hadn’t even been this lifeless when he was a machine. He blinked a few times, but otherwise didn’t respond. Rancid smelling blue blood ran from his mouth in a slow trickle. He shuddered sporadically every few moments from failed breaths.

If there was a god, Hank concluded, he was a sadistic bastard. He'd only just gotten Connor back. Now he was helpless as the kid's own body betrayed him. He hadn't felt this useless since...

No. No way in hell. He couldn't go there.

Hank had lost too much in his life. His first partner, his ex-wife, hell, even his dignity. Cole had been the final straw. After losing his son, Hank had given up. He was done caring. Done with life. Done with everything.

Then he'd met Connor. The fuckin android sent by CyberLife. Somehow, in less than a week, he'd managed to drag Hank out of the depressive hole he had been content to die in. He'd gotten him to care again. Given him a reason to care again.

And now, he was losing him too.

No, this wasn't happening. There had to be something he could do, some way to save him. But what? Even if Hank could find the problem, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't get his own damn phone to work half the time, much less fix the delicate inner workings of an android.

Hank rested a hand on Connor's head, trying to at least bring some comfort to the choking deviant. There had to be something. Someone who could help. But who? Even if CyberLife hadn’t closed all their stores and repair centers after the revolution, he didn’t want them anywhere near Connor. And New Jericho was right out, they’d kill the kid on sight. Hank ran his hand through Connor’s hair. He had the sinking feeling that that was the reason he had kept quiet. Why bring attention to a problem that had no solution?

But he wasn’t about to just give up. There was an answer somewhere and damn it, he was going to find it. He just needed to figure out where to start, find someone who could help. He'd never associated with androids before Connor. He didn't even know anyone who did.

Wait, that wasn't true. Carl knew about androids. 

True, his android took care of him, but if he’d been around them long enough, maybe he would have some idea how to help. Or at least be able to point him in the direction of someone who could. Hank took out his phone, only turning away from Connor enough to get it out of his pocket. He knew it was a long shot, but it was all he had at the moment. Any hope was better than doing nothing.


End file.
